number five hundred

my bedroom walls
are beginning to look the same as
my friend's lounge
is beginning to look the same as
the studio
looks the same as
the inside of my car
looks the same as
the bridge by my house
is the same as
queen street
is the same as
the motorway
is the same as
the view from the top of mount eden
which is the same as
an aeroplane landing in wellington
the same as
peeking through wooden structures
the same as
sitting in a frequented cafe
same as
the insides of my oven
same as
the drawer in my dresser
same as
my spine on the floor
air cutting my eyeballs
not seeing except for fatigue
constantly buried in the same spaces